New Beginnings
by Sniper650m
Summary: Sometimes even the strongest of us need a friend's shoulder.


Frea lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. It didn't matter that she reminded herself, again, that they had won; Miraak was defeated and would threaten Solstheim no more. But it didn't feel like a victory as the ashes of her father were scattered at the four corners of the village, or when she was acknowledged shaman for the village. Even the trick played on Herma-Mora by Rothil merely reminded the daughter that Storn was dead. How the man was able to trap the Skaal secrets into a soul gem she would likely never know, but as the knowledge and memories flooded into her mind, Frea truly _felt_ the death of her father.

 _ **Her father,**_ the only one of the Skaal to die in the short war with Miraak and his followers, and the only one who truly had any idea how close they came to disaster. It was truly ironic that it was Herma-Mora who killed both Storn and Miraak, but it brought the woman no humor. It merely was proof again that those beings called daedra by some cared nothing for good or right. Her thoughts roamed to the tent in the center of the village, and more particularly to the man in it.

It was strange to think of Rothil as being the same as Miraak. Even though Frea had seen his ability as a warrior, she never saw anything remotely like a power-mad superhuman with near god-like abilities. Granted the Skaal that were enslaved at the Wind Stone assured her his voice was like a thunderclap, but the man never used the Thu'um when she was around. In fact, the only time Frea saw Rothil act more than the sympathetic and curious traveler had been when she first met him, at Miraak's temple. There he had been like a winter storm, driving the First Dragonborn's minions before him, both the living and undead.

But whenever she spoke with him, or listened to his conversations with others, there was no sign of the man of violence. From time to time travelers would come the village, and almost all were the loud, brash, near pirate adventuring type. Many of those stopped flirting with her once she pulled out her training manikin and began destroying the poor thing with her axes. Still, with most of them was an aura of death that often made Frea want to gag whenever she was close to one of them. Rothil was different. When his daughter brought it up in conversation with him, Storn said it was because the Dragonborn didn't enjoy killing; he never took life unnecessarily and regretted the need when it did arise.

Just remembering her father's voice brought a lump to her throat. She took a deep breath as she sat up. The stillness inside the house had an eerie quality that she had never felt her entire life. She knew why of course; Storn and his heavy raspy breathing had irritated her as a teenager at night but for several years now had been an almost soothing assurance that her father was there and whatever difficulty they or the village faced would be overcome or at least endured. It was perhaps unfortunate that she all but named part of her problem because immediately a wave of loneliness swept over her. She was out of her bed and half-dressed before it occurred to her what she was about to do.

On the surface it was harmless, even a good thing to do; certainly it was practical. Rothil had stayed, whenever he stayed in the village, in his tent. His stated reason was that he was used to being in it and he didn't want to kick anyone out of their own bed. Frea had always suspected there was some kind of odd Skyrim taboo but didn't push the issue. But with Storn gone and leaving an empty bed, there was no reason for the Dragonborn to stay out in the cold with nothing but a tent and some furs to keep him warm.

As she slowly finished dressing, the woman thought a bit on how it might look to the rest of the village. With the old shaman only just being returned to the All-Maker, and being named his successor, Frea would be an object of interest almost by default. Though being shaman was never really what she would have chosen for herself, she didn't fancy the village gossips bleating into each other's ears about how she went wild the first chance she got. Bringing a man into their… no… _her_ house, so soon would probably get her a fair bit of censure. Even Fanari Strong-Voice would look at it crosswise; the woman did have fairly rigid views on proper living and forcefully informed the village of them more often than not.

" _What is right to do is right whether the rest of the world understands why or not_ " Frea could almost hear her father talking to her again as they would sit around the fire and discuss the day's happenings. Thinking of her father was enough and she crossed the house to the door.

The wind apparently picked up after sundown because as soon as Frea lifted the latch the door opened with a jerk, letting a blast of frigid air in. And Rothil didn't mind staying out in _**this**_? Frea could endure the elements as well as the best of them, but if offered a fire and bed with four walls and a roof she would accept as soon as could be politely managed. Holding her cloak tightly around her she walked to the tent, stopping in front of the flap. But only for a moment; this was not the time or place to be hesitant. She called softly as she opened the entrance and stepped inside.

The three things that stuck out in her mind were the dull red glow, the actual warmth of the tent, and the utter lack of the owner. The first two seemed to come from the odd flickering ball hanging from the ceiling. The third item was explained when Frea _felt_ a presence behind her. There really wasn't much room to move around in, but she quickly darted to the other side of the small enclosure, facing who had been to her rear. It did not surprise her to be looking at the Dragonborn, Rothil. What did surprise her, and it always did, is how quietly he could move when needed. The man had an amused smirk on his face.

"To what do I owe the unprecedented pleasure of you gracing my humble abode?"

Although it was of course meant in jest, the thought of why she was there removed any humor from Frea's mind. Her voice quivered as she blurted out:

"It's too quiet"

The Nord's expression immediately changed to compassionate concern. The look did it. A moment later the world swam as she wept for the first time since her mother's death. It was a few minutes later that Frea found herself in Rothil's arms sitting on the bedroll as he spoke softly to her. After a few seconds she began making out what he was saying.

"Go on, let it out. He was a good man; honor him, grieve for him. He wouldn't want you to bottle it up inside."

He paused thoughtfully, and then shook his head as he said to himself. "They shouldn't have made you shaman so soon. You haven't had time to actually mourn him."

Frea stiffened slightly and tried to look straight at him, only to realize just how close their faces were to the others. Leaning away from him she shook her head. It was plain the man didn't understand.

"I am honored to be chosen shaman for the village. To speak for the All-Maker is a privilege, not a burden."

It was Rothil's turn to shake his head. "I didn't mean to suggest that at all. All I meant was they should have given you a little time before taking Storn's place."

He shrugged. "It isn't like the Skaal really needed a shaman immediately" The man then frowned. "What if Fanari was informed that you are taking a … leave of absence for say, two weeks? They should be fine for that long."

He was given a confused look for his trouble. "What would I be doing in that time?"

Rothil gave a small smile. "Go out and explore a bit; see those places your father told you about but never took you. Remember all the good times you had together, all the lessons he taught you. Maybe you will come across some people who knew Storn from long ago. If so I'm sure they'd be more than glad to share memories with his daughter."

Wiping her eyes Frea gave the idea some thought. Although the idea of leaving the village for merely personal reasons felt odd, even wrong, the chance to see more of Solstheim in a less hurried fashion had a powerful draw. She looked carefully at Rothil.

"You already have some people in mind I think"

He nodded. "Four come to mind right now. And then you could return and take up your duties here. You wouldn't be gone long, and if something happens your people can get word to you quickly."

The woman felt a glow inside; at the chance to see more of the island and for the man who showed the way. As best she could the wide smile was repressed. "I will think it over in the morning"

It was almost a total lie; Frea already decided she was going. Only then did she remember what she came out to do in the first place, which made her current position… interesting. Just as she was about to get to her feet and into a more respectable position, the Dragonborn asked a question.

"Now, was there something in particular you needed to discuss tonight that couldn't wait until the morning?"

His expression was wary, but not unkind.

Frea laughed a little self-consciously and stood up. "Actually I was going to invite you in out of the cold, but you seem to have no need for help there."

Rothil shrugged. "Not really. I have Neloth to thank for that; he may be an egotistical bastard but he is a total genius in the enchanting field."

He looked towards the tent flap. "You are going back?"

…

"Yes"

…

"Alone?"

…

"Yes" Her voice quavered a little as she thought of the silence waiting for her.

"Stay here tonight. I have a spare blanket over there you can use."

It took the woman another five minutes to be convinced the world would not end if she slept in the same tent with a man. After all _she_ had planned to invite him into her house. Not to mention Frea knew she didn't want to go back to the empty house just yet.

Once she lay down on her blanket and Rothil had dimmed the light somehow, Frea asked quietly: "Where are you traveling to next?" She heard rather than saw him turn his head towards her.

"Kolbjorn Barrow. There is apparently some trouble at an archeological dig I'm financing. I received a message this afternoon asking me to come back there."

"May I go with you?"

There was a pause. "As you wish"


End file.
